


Lights In The Sky

by wordsliketeeth



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Biting, Canon Compliant, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Light Angst, Light BDSM, Light Sadism, Mental Instability, Mild Blood, Obsessive Behavior, Outdoor Sex, Possessive Behavior, Power Play, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 01:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17070695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsliketeeth/pseuds/wordsliketeeth
Summary: “Saeran turns around, and you're not entirely sure how you hear him but you do, louder than the thunder and the rain and the wind: 'Think about what it really means for me to love you.'” Saeran has been watching MC since the day she arrived at Mint Eye and when she tries to escape, he has to fight more battles than one.





	Lights In The Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hideyourghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hideyourghost/gifts).



> This story was written for my girlfriend's birthday. Thank you for everything. You've been the light through my darkest days and I wouldn't be here without you. I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

“Didn't I tell you that I'd double your lesson the next time we met?” Saeran says, the timbre of his voice dipping into that of a low hum. His breath ghosts the shell of your ear and a violent shiver passes down the entire length of your spine. “Or are you too stupid to retain the knowledge I feed to you—maybe you enjoy _starving_.”

  
“You also told me that I could leave whenever I wanted,” you say, struggling to keep your voice as even as possible despite the thrum of electricity creeping into your veins. “Are you going back on your word?”

  
“My word?” Saeran arches an eyebrow but you're too focused on the slanted tilt of his lips to notice. “How dare you confuse that idiot's words for mine.” He steps forward and you take a step back involuntarily, your body's natural defenses warring with your mind's deliberation. “Where are you going? I never said that you could move.” Saeran's eyes catch in the light of the moon, hanging brilliant and ponderous in the sky. The usual bright of his gaze has turned dark for the shadows swamping his vision, the weight of it too heavy now, and you can't help but think that there's torture waiting in the wings for you.

  
“Did you honestly think that you could get away?” Saeran lunges forward and you cry out in surprise. You clamp a hand over your mouth but it's too late to call the sound back and Saeran is laughing before he even closes his fingers around your arm. “You're so pathetic, ____. Did you already forget that there's a camera in your room?” He tugs you closer to his frame and you have to fight to keep yourself standing. “I'll let you in on a little secret” –Saeran ducks his head forward and presses his cheek against your own– “I'm _always_ watching you.”

  
“Saeran...please,” you manage, breathing harder than strictly necessary. “I was only doing what I thought I could.”

  
“Do I look like a joke to you? Who do you take me for?” Saeran shouts, shaking you roughly in his hands. His fingers bite into the soft of your arm and you have to catch the bottom line of your mouth between the edges of your teeth to keep from issuing protest. “You're my prey. I have no intention of letting you go.” Saeran releases his hold on your arm in exchange for your wrist, then he pulls you away from the large building at your back and into the garden. “I told you to keep me entertained but you can't even do that, can you?”

“Saeran...” you begin, but before you can frame the words behind your lips Saeran's shoving you down to the ground.

  
“Shut up! I never said that you could speak. The only words I want to hear from your mouth are _yes_ and _Master_.” You can't see yourself reflected in his eyes but whatever expression is taking over your face leaves you staring at the white slash of a smile. “Don't forget your place, ____, or I'll have to do my talking with a gun. You don't want that, do you? This is where you deserve to be, _beneath me_ , not six feet underground.” Saeran's laugh carries into the night, the trill of his amusement bouncing off every plant in the garden.

“Saeran...where's Ray?” you ask, tentatively. You know that it's a mistake, that time and luck are not on your side, and the last thing you want is to spend forever with hapless circumstance. However, you're not expecting the sharp sting that comes in the form of answer when the back of Saeran's hand connects with your cheek.

“Ray is dead!” Saeran shouts. He crouches above your body, then he's pinning you beneath his weight and the sharp dig of his knees are pressing in against your hips. “Why are you constantly asking about him when I'm the one you should be thanking? _I'm_ the one trying to teach you your place. _I'M_ the one who's keeping you alive!” Saeran leans forward and grips the front of your dress, crushing the soft cotton in his fist when he tugs you up and away from the soft grass. “You're going to know my name, ____. If it takes me carving it into your flesh, you're going to learn just who you belong to. I _promise_ you that.”

You can feel the steady thrum of your heart hammering against your chest, can hear the sound of blood rushing to your ears, but you can't parse whether it's a by-product of the fear that Saeran's forcing into you or a reaction to the sudden warmth against your mouth. You open your eyes—unsure of when you closed them in the first place—and search for something to define reality, to differentiate the truth from the imagination of Saeran's touch.

You half-expect to find darkness in front of your eyes but you find Saeran's face instead; his eyes are closed and the press of his lips fitting against your own is as real as the huff of warmth against your cheek when he exhales. You catch yourself staring at the long line of his lashes and quickly shut your eyes, not wanting to expose your interest. It feels so surreal, and you wonder if the kiss that's currently stealing your breath will steal your soul instead. You quickly discard the thought and mindlessly reach up to slide your fingers in and against the soft weight of Saeran's hair.

You want him to pull you closer, to draw your chest flush against his own but he's reaching for your wrist instead. He forces your arm up and over your head before pinning it to the ground roughly. The short edges of his nails, jagged and torn, dig into your flesh and you find yourself whimpering in response to the pain. Saeran shakes his head and scoffs as he stares down at you with contempt. “What am I going to have to do to get you to understand that this isn't about you, princess? This world wasn't _made_ for you. I don't owe you anything. Yet, you keep trying to take from me like an idiot.” Saeran presses your wrist into the grass and the soil, the pressure just enough to send pain up your arm and into your shoulder. “You really are good for nothing,” he tells you. “I bet you thought I was being nice to you just now. Did you think that Ray came back? Were you hoping to be _saved_? Ha! You're so naive, ____.” Saeran turns his head and spits on the ground. “And you taste like shit.”

You narrow your gaze, choking back the hurt that gathers in the dark of your throat and burns behind your eyes. “Why are you hard then?” you blurt. It takes you a moment to realize what you've just said but you know, immediately, that you've made an err by the way Saeran's expression changes.

“You're so full of yourself,” Saeran sneers. “You know, I've seen all the way to the other side. I've seen so much, so many things you couldn't even believe. I've stood between all of the blacks and the whites but you, you're something else entirely.” Saeran's free hand ghosts the top of your thigh, his fingers sliding higher to settle against the dip of your hip. “See, people think that they know me, that they can _predict_ me, but they're wrong.” He shifts his hand and traces the top edge of your panties, his knuckles glancing your skin. Your breath catches and your legs begin to tremble with the impulse to move, to escape from the dangerous boy above you. “If they really saw me for who I am, they'd see a man so deep in the red that it would chill them to the bone.” Saeran lets his hand wander down to the inside of your thighs as he presses closer, his expression inscrutable. His eyes rove over your frame and the heat radiating from his scrutiny is on just this side of unbearable. You feel suffocated, like he's stepping into the shape of your body and claiming it for himself instead of simply _looking_ at it. Notwithstanding your discomfit, the thought has heat prickling down your spine to settle in the low of your abdomen. Saeran shifts his hand as if he can read your body's reactions through your skin and slides his fingers right over that pool of heat.

“I thought I told you to get rid of this smell,” Saeran says, his voice unusually calm. You open your mouth to reply but before you can issue a response, Saeran's releasing his hold on your wrist to drag friction across the swell of your right breast. His fingers tighten against the soft tissue, his palm cradling its weight as he drags his thumb across a hardening nipple. “Do I have to do everything for you?” Saeran asks, his tone shifting like the breaking of reason. His hands continue to move, sliding here and touching there to wander across the span of your body laid out before him. “I'm going to fill you up with my scent so I never have to smell you again. It's an affront to my senses.”  
  
Saeran walks his fingers over the center of your panties and presses the fabric close to your skin. You gasp from the trace of friction and attempt to pin your focus on the breeze ghosting over your exposed flesh. You feel heat creep into your cheeks with the sudden knowledge that you could be found at any given moment, your dress bunched up around your hips and Saeran's hand between your thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut and inhale a deep breath. It catches in your throat and your legs begin to shake but you don't give voice to the apprehension or the dissent that forces its way into your thoughts. Instead, you let your body go slack against the ground as Saeran's fingers slip between elastic and skin to press against the slick heat between your thighs.

“It's a little hypocritical, isn't it?” Saeran asks, his fingers sliding up to pin friction against your clit. You inhale a sharp breath and arch your back as much as distance allows. “You dare to comment on my arousal when you're dripping wet...” Saeran removes his touch and holds his hand out in front of him to examine his fingers. You feel your body go hot in an answer to his obscene display; the slick of your arousal catches in the moonlight and glistens on his fingers. “Try to convince me, ____. Tell me that you don't want me.”

You furrow your brow and blink at him in confusion. “I never said that I didn't want you, Saeran.” You keep gazing at the soft-lit glow of his face, so near to your own, and the heat of his juxtaposition is too much, so incandescent with radiance that you feel yourself submitting to every bone of resistance left in your body. “I'm not so cruel as to throw you away just because you're not like Ray. I love Ray but that doesn't mean that I can't love you too. And loving Ray has nothing to do with wanting you.”

Saeran stares down at you, and at that moment, the sky begins to purr itself into sound. The low rumble of thunder in the distance pulses through you and the rain that drips down onto your skin melts the heat that threatens to consume you. Saeran remains silent, unaffected by the cool droplets that collect on his jacket. His expression is blank but not entirely impenetrable, and it's almost as if he's taking a moment to be alone with his thoughts and his pain, standing in the stain of the broken and the damned, the black night a backdrop that illuminates his form. He looks almost _innocent_ but you know that this is only a comma in the storm, and within seconds, something inside of him breaks and he loses control of everything.

Saeran ducks in and presses his mouth against yours, the shift of his lips rough and urgent like he's afraid that you're going to disappear. His hands are searching, his fingers sliding up and into the cup of your bra to manipulate the hard peak of your nipple, and between your thighs to grind rough friction against the wet of your sex. He licks into your mouth and bites at your bottom lip just hard enough to incite pain but not quite hard enough to draw blood. His knees are pressing firmly against your hips and there's such a sense of desperation in the way he's handling you that you don't think twice about future consequence when you invite the burn.

“ _Saeran_ –” you start, but the sky opens up and drowns out your voice. Rain drums down against the ground and pelts your bodies, Saeran's slender build not enough to shield you from the torrential downpour. The fabric of your dress takes to the shape of Saeran's hand like a second skin as he manipulates your breasts in turn. His fingers press in against you, his thumb waging a one-sided battle against your clit as he rubs firm circles down onto the sensitive organ. Your spine curves and your body arches up towards him, and your voice breaks on a sound that bears no true meaning, only a reflection of the pleasure Saeran's instilling you with.

You feel like your world has turned upside down and you're losing your point of balance. Your breathing is labored and your heartbeat is racing so fast under the pressure of Saeran's fingers that you wonder how long you can survive like this. Then Saeran draws his hands away so he can undo the front of his pants and you feel like you're already at death's door. The weight of anticipation is too much to uphold, so you reach out with trembling fingers, slick with rain and damp soil. Your hand grazes the top of his own as his pants come open, and Saeran's lifting his head to meet your gaze, the light of his hair pinned to his skin beneath the weight of the rain slicking his complexion. Your motion quickly turns to stillness, expecting protest, but Saeran's suddenly leaning forward to hook his fingers around the elastic of your panties. You shiver, whether from rain or sensation you're not entirely sure; the only thing that's self-evident is the way Saeran's sliding his fingers down your legs. You track the motion as you reach past the wilting edges of Saeran's pants to press your fingers to the tangible desire you're hoping is a result of your actions—the thought of Saeran becoming aroused for you is intoxicating, has you shifting your weight obediently when he gestures for it. At that instant, you know that you would do anything he asked of you, and you know that you're playing a dangerous game but that, too, is exhilarating.

Saeran exhales a stuttering breath as your fingers close around the weight of his erection. His body draws tight and when you lift your head, you see that he's smiling, the same smile that pulled at the corner of Ray's lips when he finally addressed your first kiss. He blinks and you watch the color of his eyes disappear, and the shimmering droplets that cling to his lashes spill down his cheeks like the many tears you know he's cried. You can hear Ray's voice in the back of your mind, all of his sorrow and anguish, but you feel disconnected from the resonance. You feel miles apart from Ray, like Saeran has drawn you into a trap and you've been willfully misled.

Saeran fits a knee between your legs and forces your thighs apart, all while overlapping your fingers with his hand. You can feel a rush of heat beneath your fingertips, blood thrumming his cock to full hardness. Lightning cuts through the sky but Saeran's moving to fit his body against yours, his free hand pressing hard against your thigh, and you're too desperate to feel him inside of you to notice. You dig your heels down into the wet earth and tilt your hips up toward Saeran in voluntary suggestion. You open your mouth to inhale a much-needed breath and feel the rain on your tongue, though, it's not enough to supersede the taste of Saeran on your lips.

You shiver when he slides your dress up around your waist and braces his hands against the slick warmth of your hips. He tugs you close and your fingers urge him in closer, and it's the combination of your efforts that brings your bodies together. You release your hold on his cock when he rocks forward, his glans pushing past the rain and the arousal and the heat of your entrance. Saeran exhales a breathless gasp as he moves into you, fitting against the soft give of your body. You clutch at his shirt and wrinkle the material in your grip, gone transparent from the rain. Saeran's lashes flutter and your vision slips out of focus as he slides forward, his fingers digging into the smooth curve of your hips. Your mouth falls open on heat and Saeran's offering up a raspy groan that carries into the night.

“Fuck,” Saeran growls, the word violent and passionate on his lips. His hands skid up to your waist, his hold compromised by the precipitation inundating the atmosphere around you. He thrusts forward and you can see pleasure beneath his half-lidded gaze when he presses himself deep inside of you. You let your knees fall open and Saeran brings himself closer still, his cheeks are flushed with heat and his shoulders are tipping forward with strain. He's breathing in soft gasps, not quite panting, but lacking his usual composure. You reach up to clasp the withered edges of his tie and draw him forward.

“ _Master_ ,” you whisper, your lips a hairsbreadth away from his own. His body shudders and his hips snap forward, driving his cock deep into your body. His breath sticks in the shadow of his throat and before you can brace yourself against the force, he's fucking into you with frenetic ferocity. It's pleasure and pain, passion driven by a purpose, all wrapped in a neat little package that's ready to explode. And maybe that's why you're not afraid to ask the question that claws at your subconscious: “Why do you get so angry with me, Saeran?”

Saeran doesn't break his momentum, and even when he slams his hands against the earth to cage you between his arms, he doesn't stop grinding against the angle of your hips. He licks the rain from his lips and looks you straight in the eyes. “Because you're everything I'm not,” he tells you bitterly, as if some kind of madness is swallowing him whole. He lowers himself down on his arms, the hard resistance of his chest pressing close against the soft of your own. You close your eyes and inhale a shaky breath, the friction almost too much to bear.

“Do you hate that you have feelings for me?” you ask him. You open your eyes and inhale his scent when you breathe in, and it's almost as dizzying as the knowledge that he's fucking you right out in the open for anyone to see. Saeran tips his head and presses his lips against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. A shiver passes through you and when another flash of lightning breaks in the sky, a violent spark lances through the beat of your heart.

“Yes,” Saeran says, but his voice is splintering and you can almost feel him burying his grief in you. “I hate what you do to me—I hate how you make me feel.” It sounds like an insult but it's obviously a confession and you barely have time to register it before he's sinking his teeth into the curve of your shoulder. You cry out and lift your legs to catch around his hips reflexively, but it only brings him closer and you can't escape the pain that's underscoring his motion. You wrap your arms around his thin frame and rake your nails down his back. You can feel Saeran's laughter against your chest, his breath hot against the radiant twinge pulsing through your shoulder.

“I hope you're not trying to hurt me,” Saeran says, sliding a hand between the ground and your spine to press the flat of his palm against your back. He lifts you up and away from the grass and the dirt, the distance is marginal but it brings you so near to his body that you can feel the shape of his ribcage through the saturated fabric of your dress. “It's going to take a lot more than that,” he finishes, laughing.  
  
“I would never hurt you intentionally,” you tell him, slightly breathless.

“What if I wanted you to?” Saeran asks, his lips moving against the weight of a breast. He drags the edges of his teeth over the material acting as a barricade between the direct contact. You press your palms flat against his back and when he catches a nipple between his teeth, it takes every last grain of your control to keep from screaming into the night. You cling to Saeran's body, afraid to let go, afraid that if you do you'll slip through the illusory fault line that's slowly crumbling beneath you.

“I asked you a question,” Saeran says, squeezing your breast beneath his palm. “Are you afraid to tell me the truth?” He rocks forward, his thighs quivering and sticking to the damp heat of your skin. You try to brace yourself against the rhythm of his cock and the way his lips feel when they return to the throbbing ache that resonates alongside your pulse long enough to formulate an answer, but it's no use. Saeran is manipulating your body in ways that you never deemed possible, leaving your awareness to wash out with the storm and your body in ruins.

Saeran fits his hand against your throat and leans in to press the soft of his lips to your ear. You slide your hands up his back, one pressing hard against the shift of a shoulder-blade while the other forms a fist in the wet tangle of his pale strands. You try to orient yourself long enough to focus on the words ghosting your cheek but your blood is burning with a fever so brilliant that you can't breathe, and when you try, Saeran closes off the ability entirely. You close your eyes and try to calm the rapid skip of your heartbeat. You focus on the shape of his hand and the texture of his fingertips, sure to leave bruises on your skin. The thought shouldn't excite you as much as it does but you wouldn't _be_ in this position if you weren't known for your unorthodox judgment and controversial use of volition.

“Do I frighten you, ____?” Saeran asks over the thunder sounding in the sky, and you'd be laughing if not for the way your whole body is shaking itself into tension. It's irony in its purest form, this entire night a paradox of sorts. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and nod, knowing that no other answer will satisfy the short-winded and love-starved boy above you. Saeran huffs a breath, and then he laughs, his breath hot and his laughter sharp. “I want to hear you say it.” He lessens his hold on your throat and you inhale a deep breath, drawing as much oxygen as you can into your lungs and the depths of your chest.

“What happens if I do?” You try to ignore the way your knees are shaking and the tremors of heat that are cresting over you. “I don't want you to throw me away.” It's the truth and you've never been quite so afraid to speak it. You part your lips and let your head fall back against the ground. “I want to be your toy—I want to be _yours_.”

Saeran barks laughter and you think you feel your heart stop momentarily. However, Saeran's not stilling his hips or slowing his rhythm, and no sooner than your skepticism takes you by the hand, Saeran is crushing his lips against your own. The brutal kiss is short and far from sweet but when Saeran draws back he's staring at you in a way that spells dominance. “You've been _mine_ since the day you answered that first message I sent to you. I should have known that you'd be too stupid to pick up on the truth.” He slides a hand past the low of your abdomen and presses two fingers against your clit. “Sometimes, I still wonder why I gave you a chance at all.”

“You would have been mad even if I— _ah_ —had picked up on it,” you manage, gasping. “I can't win with you no matter what I do.” You twist Saeran's wet strands between your fingers and arch your back, your body straining to be closer to him even where it's no longer possible.

Saeran laughs but the sound of it is stringing higher from the effects of his pleasure, and he's struggling to keep his movements steady. He shakes his head as much as your grip will allow and you find yourself pushing back the fringe that hangs down into his eyes without a second thought. It's oddly intimate and when you look at him for some kind of permission, a sign that you can surrender to the commanding claims your body is making, he's framing his lips on the words you so desperately need to hear. “ _Come for me_.”

At that instant, you feel like you've fallen off the precipice of a cliff high above the ocean, and when you finally make contact with the cresting waters below, you sink to its unknown depths like a stone. Your whole body spasms, your toes curl into the sodden ground, and you can't fit enough air into your lungs to catch the breath that cries surrender. Then Saeran's hips jerk forward, his body stringing into tension, and when your hold turns to clinging desperation he spills himself to completion inside of you.

Thunder purrs through the sky and the pouring rain around you grows louder—that or you're really hearing it for the first time—and you can't keep yourself from shivering beneath the weight of Saeran's body. He lifts his head and you can see relief behind his eyes but it's gone as soon as he draws away from your body. He pushes himself into standing and smooths down the front of his shirt, habit taking the place of logic. “This was never about winning,” Saeran tells you, holding out his hand for you to take.

“The tests you put me through sure make this feel like a game,” you reply, fitting your hand into his own. You struggle to your feet, the aftershocks of your orgasm still overseeing your brain's higher functions. You steady yourself against Saeran's grip and scan the ground for your panties. You narrow your eyes against the rain but you don't need to see to pinpoint their location. “Can I please have my underwear back?”

“Only when I feel that you've earned them,” is Saeran's response as he turns his back on you and starts to walk away. You glare at his silhouette and follow his lead, knowing that there's no point or room for argument. You swallow thickly, trying not to let your emotions get the better of you as you wish that you could have had just a moment longer in his arms.

Saeran stops at a large rose bush, his fingers gliding over the many thorns that glisten beneath heavy raindrops. He withdraws a switchblade knife from his pant's pocket and carefully slices through a single stem. “I never thought that I'd turn into a fool for someone like you.” He turns and lifts the rose to your cheek, its petals soft and cool against the wet heat of your skin. “I never thought that I'd lose control.” Saeran takes you by the hand and places the rose down gently on the flat of your palm. “That's why I can't stand you. You mess with my head like some kind of contagion and I hate it. I hate that you're capable of changing me.” Saeran forcibly closes your fingers around the rose until its thorns cut deep into your skin. “Think of this as a warning.” He lifts his gaze and meets your bewildered expression, his eyes shadowed with a million implications you can't even begin to name.

Saeran turns around, and you're not entirely sure how you hear him but you do, louder than the thunder and the rain and the wind: “Think about what it really means for me to love you.” Then he's walking down the path that leads into the building that slopes out of the ground, never once looking back.

You lower your gaze to the rose still clenched in your fist and the blood, now diluted by rain, dripping through your fingers to disappear into the ground. Then, with determination you don't have to seek out, you follow in his footsteps, no longer considering the possibility of escape. “Maybe I am stupid,” you say to the night; but whatever it takes, you vow to keep pushing Saeran in the right direction.

You just hope that you know where you're going.


End file.
